Horror floats on the air
colliding with our ears in spurts,
the news of African strife, sounding
like sticks on a snare drum, threatening
to burst the comfort zone
of our drive home from church, so
we stop at the store to buy milk
and eggs and flour.

147 souls lost:
Girls in a school
trying to grow
to learn
to change
Kenya.

Terror awoke them in their dorms.
A broken voice of a dead girl’s father travels
through the radio to Nebraska,

I called
and called
my daughter,
and finally
found
a computer
and
saw
her
name
on
the
list
among
those
shot
first.

Turning the radio dial down,
We are holding hands
in silence.
One of us suggests we bake banana bread
when we get to our home.